Page 31 of Savage Kilted Highlander (Temptation in Tartan #9)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

O utside in the courtyard, the battle grew in ferocity and intensity as Ashbourne’s men clashed with the defenders. Fuelled by a determination to protect Constance, Bane’s already excellent fighting instincts were heightened. Expertly wielding his razor-shaper blades, one in each hand, he gave no quarter to the enemy, seeing in each man’s face that of Constance’s hated stepfather.

The urge to destroy the man pushed him onwards. Summoning all his strength, he carved a bloody path through all those enemy soldiers he encountered, fighting alongside Ewan Kerr’s men. In the brief pauses between dealing out death and destruction, he would wipe his sweating, bloody forehead with his sleeve and cast about for his brother. He knew Tav was fighting somewhere nearby, but he could not see him. Though he knew his brother could take care of himself, he would have liked to know he was alright.

At one point, he glanced to his left and found himself fighting next to Laird Kerr. Their eyes met fleetingly, but there was no time for anything more as they both fought on, relentlessly pushing back the encroaching enemy. During that time, he had cause to admire the laird’s fighting ability, and was glad for it, thinking that if anything happened to him, Constance’s father would defend her more than capably to the death.

The fighting dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Cries of agony echoed in his ears, the courtyard beneath his feet was slippery with blood and gore, the bodies of the fallen became stepping stones for the remaining warriors.

But slowly, the laird’s men gained the upper hand, pushing back Ashbourne’s vastly depleted forces until few remained living within the castle. Those who did, were mortally injured. The rest fled, seeing the battle was lost.

The last of the battle had moved outside the broken gates, and Bane had followed it, but he soon realized the worst of it was over and that the laird’s forces had prevailed. It was then that he saw two of the victorious warriors dragging Ashbourne, bloodied but still bellowing threats and struggling, into the courtyard. Filled with bloodlust to finish the man, he ran after them.

But inside the courtyard, which was littered with blood and bodies, he was disappointed to find Ashbourne was already being brought before Ewan Kerr. He slowed his pace and walked over to join the soldiers he had been fighting alongside, who were gathering there to witness the final confrontation between the two men.

Clansfolk were pouring out of the castle as well, to see what was happening now victory was assured and they felt safe. Bane was concerned to see Constance among them. She was anxiously scanning the crowd, and when she saw him, she waved to him, her relief and joy clearly visible. Though he was glad to see she was safe, he was concerned by her proximity to her stepfather. Although Ashbourne was technically the laird’s captive now, in his mind, he still presented a danger to her. He moved around the crowd of soldiers and put himself between her and Ashbourne.

Silence fell. “Let him go,” Ewan Kerr calmly ordered the men holding Ashbourne, who was standing a few yards in front of him. The men obeyed, releasing the Viscount and moving aside, although they kept their swords in their hands. Immediately, Ashbourne puffed himself up, his fury at being bested and kept from his quarry evident in his ruddy, sweating face.

Bane noticed Ashbourne’s eyes flick towards Constance and felt in his bones it was a mistake not to bind him. A second later, he was proved right when Ashbourne lunged towards her. A collective gasp of shock went up as Bane intercepted him, pushing him away, the point of his sword aimed at the centre of his chest. Her father, who had also moved to cut Ashbourne off, nodded at him, clearly grateful.

Thwarted, Ashbourne moved back. Seeming to ignore Bane, he addressed the laird. As if believing he had anything to bargain with, he arrogantly, declared, “I’ll leave peacefully with the rest of my men, Kerr, if Constance accompanies me.” He glanced at her, his gaze poisonous. Bane did not trust him one inch and moved closer to him, watching his every move.

Before the laird could reply, Constance stepped forward out of the shelter of the spectators. Bane’s heart sank in fear.

“I am not going anywhere with you,” she said fiercely, holding her head high.

“Get back, Constance,” Bane told her and turned to move towards her, wanting to protect her more effectively. But he had not taken two steps when he felt a great weight land upon his back, a strong arm seized him in a headlock, yanking his head violently backwards. Reflexively, he moved to free himself but froze when he felt the long edge of a sharp blade digging into his throat. Horrified cries went up as he cursed inwardly, knowing that a moment’s inattention had given Ashbourne the opportunity to neutralize him.

“Let him go!” Constance shouted at her stepfather, fists clenched, eyes blazing. Her father, clearly furious at being taken so off guard, met Bane’s eyes as he moved towards her protectively.

Ashbourne pressed his blade harder against Bane’s throat. “If you want to save this barbarian’s worthless life, then you will agree to come with me, daughter,” Ashbourne snarled, while Bane tried to tell Constance with his eyes to back off.

His heart dropped. He knew what she was going to say before she said it. “Very well. Let him go, and I will come with you.”

“Constance, nay!” Bane bellowed and felt the blade touching his neck and little drops of blood tingling him. His life meant nothing to him if Constance had to sacrifice herself to her monstrous stepfather. He was frustrated when the Laird Kerr did not attack, unable to understand why not.

“Constance, run!” he managed to shout despite Ashbourne’s vicious chokehold on his neck. Ashbourne growled in his ear and increased the pressure of his hold and the blade that was already cutting into Bane’s flesh—he could feel the warmth of his own blood running down his skin. He ignored the pain and shouted again, “Get away, Constance, dinnae go with him!”

She shook her head defiantly. “I cannot let him harm you, Bane.”

Bane knew all was lost, but then something occurred that happened so fast, he hardly knew what it was.

Suddenly, behind him, a familiar voice growled, “That’s enough, ye English bastard, let me braither go.” At the same moment, Ashbourne shouted as his chokehold broke, and Bane felt the man being yanked violently backwards. The weight was gone. He was free! Elated, he wheeled around, to see the positions had been abruptly reversed. Ashbourne was now the one gasping for air in a chokehold, and holding a blade to his neck was a blood-covered, grimacing Tav.

“Dinnae kill him, Tav!” Laird Kerr shouted, then, “Bane, protect Constance. Take her tae safety.” But Bane was already running to her side. He swept her up and practically carried her to a point he deemed far enough away to be secure from any further threats from Ashbourne. He held Constance tightly as they watched her father pick up a sword from a fallen soldier and hurled it to the ground by Ashbourne’s feet.

“Release him, Tav,” he commanded darkly, his eyes like obsidian as he squared up to Ashbourne, his weapons poised to fight. Tav obeyed, violently pushing Ashbourne forward and making him stumble. As soon as he had let Ashbourne go, Tav ran over to join Bane and Constance.

“Are ye all right, Braither?” he asked anxiously, tearing off his own kerchief and using it to staunch the blood on Bane’s neck.

“Aye, thank ye fer saving me life there,” Bane replied gratefully, moved by his brother’s heroic actions. He wanted to hug him, but all their attention was overtaken by the scene being played out before them as the laird and the English lord prepared for a long-awaited showdown.

“We’ll settle this now, man tae man, Ashbourne, like I should have done years ago. Pick up the sword,” Ewan instructed.

Ashbourne righted himself and snatched up the weapon. “I should have killed you years ago, Kerr, when I first found out you had dishonoured my wife,” he spat. “And now I will.”

“I may have dishonoured her, though I can assure ye, she didnae see it that way. I loved her. I wasnae the one who locked her up and caused her death as ye did, ye vicious swine,” Ewan snarled back as the two men began to circle each other.

“You will pay with your life for ruining mine, you savage, Kerr!” Ashbourne bellowed, clearly infuriated by the truth of Ewan’s words.

Just then Agnes appeared at Constance’s side, taking a tight hold on her arm. Bane saw the twins exchange a look of terror, and he released Constance from his arms so they could comfort each other. But he remained close to her. He noticed Tav moving closer to Agnes in a similarly protective manner. As if sensing he was there, Agnes glanced up at him, and Bane was taken aback to see the look of fear on her face when she realized who was standing behind her. She inched closer to Constance as if shrinking away from Tav.

Admittedly, Tav was fearsome looking and covered in gore, but Bane was surprised by her reaction. He knew his brother had a soft spot for Agnes and clearly felt protective towards her, but Agnes did not feel the same way at all. However, there was no time to dwell on it. The girls watched in horrified silence, both of them shaking and wide-eyed with silent terror, as their father launched a ferocious attack on Ashbourne.

The two seasoned warriors clashed viciously, trading blow for blow with great skill in both cases, both fuelled by hatred, albeit of a different kind. Fighting without shields, they barged each other and tried to knock each other off balance, their swordplay fast and furious as they grunted and panted, each looking for the opening that would give them the chance to bring the other down.

However, eventually, it became obvious that Ewan’s onslaught was relentless and unyielding and Ashbourne was showing signs of tiring. He lunged with his sword point at Ewan, aiming for his chest, but Ewan skilfully blocked his arm and thus his blade, and struck the fatal blow that sent Constance’s stepfather to his knees, blood pouring from the gaping wound in his neck, in the narrow band of unprotected flesh between his mail shirt and his helmet.

Bane heard Constance cry out in distress as the man fell, clutching at the wound, his sword clattering to the cobbles. Ewan stood over him and finished him off with a single thrust to his chest. Lord Richard Ashbourne was no more.

While Agnes ran straight to their father and embraced him, crying with relief, Constance turned to Bane. “I cannot believe that he is dead,” she cried, pressing her face into his chest, her slight body shaking with sobs. Bane supposed her tears were of relief if not outright happiness after the misery Ashbourne had inflicted on her for so long. But he quickly realized there was more to it than that. “How ever much I despised him, he raised me as his own, Bane. I would never have chosen this end for him.”

“He chose it himself,” he told her, unable to spare any sympathy for Ashbourne, caring only that she was safe.

“But how am I going to tell Henry and Amelia that I watched their father being killed in front of my eyes by my father?” she asked through her sobs. She was genuinely distraught, and all he could do was hold her and try to comfort her as best he could, for as long as it took for her to come to terms with her stepfather’s death.

However, now the heat of battle had died from his veins, even as he comforted Constance, he started to feel woozy and unsteady on his feet. He became conscious that the wound to his throat was terribly sore, and his neck was stiffening up painfully. He reached up to touch it and his fingers encountered Tav’s kerchief. He was shocked to realize it was soaked in blood, and blood was running down his front.

He just had time to think the cut Ashbourne had inflicted must be deeper than he had first suspected before he was overcome by dizziness. Suddenly, his legs went out from under him, and he felt himself toppling to the ground. As he felt the hard impact rattle his bones, the world faded from view and then was snuffed out like a candle.

For the second time in as many days, he found himself pushing upward from the murky depths, striving to reach the light he could vaguely discern somewhere above him. At last, he broke through and emerged into it, opening his eyes, once again finding himself in unfamiliar surroundings.

“So, ye’re awake,” said a deep, gravelly voice he vaguely recognized.

Bane turned his head with great difficulty and a lot of pain, and made out it was resting on a pillow. He was in a bed, then. And Laird Kerr was standing right next to it, his hands behind his back, looking down on him. Thinking he was a phantom of some sort, Bane turned his head slowly, agonizingly the other way. He was surprised to see Constance’s sleeping form lying next to him.

“Where am I?” he managed to murmur through parched lips, becoming aware that his whole body was aching, especially his throat and neck area. Frowning, he reached up to touch his throat and encountered a large plaster, which seemed to cover its entirety. Ashbourne , came the thought.

“Ye’re lyin’ in a bedchamber in me castle,” replied the mirage of Ewan Kerr, rapidly convincing Bane that he was, indeed, real. As if further proof was needed, the laird drew up a chair and sat down.

“Ye and me need tae have a wee talk,” he said, his dark grey eyes as cold as glass marbles as they fixed on Bane’s. His unsmiling face was hard and weathered. In his expression, Bane recognized something of himself.

“All right,” he mumbled, trying and failing to lift himself up on his elbows. He gave up. “Can I have some water first?” he asked, his voice a mere croak. Without saying a word, the laird reached over to the nightstand and poured a beaker of water from a jug standing there.

“Thank ye,” Bane croaked again, noticing his hand was shaking as he took the beaker. But when he tried to lift his head to drink, the stiffness and pain in his neck made it impossible.

“Ach, c’mere,” the laird said with some impatience, taking the beaker back. He slid an arm behind Bane’s back and levered him up, which proved to be another painful experience. “Here.” The laird brought the beaker to his lips so he could drink. The water was cool and refreshing on his dry mouth and throat, tasting like nectar.

Once he had drunk enough, he nodded and thanked the laird again. The beaker was duly placed back by the jug, and the laird settled in his chair. “Ye realize that Tav is still in me debt fer savin’ him from Armstrong, eh?” he asked, his gaze boring into Bane.

“Aye, I ken it,” Bane replied, knowing better now than to try to nod.

“And that he agreed tae the terms of the contract.”

“Aye, so he said.”

“Ye understand that he’s here of his own choice, and he’ll be stayin’ until he’s finished what he started?”

“Aye, I understand. He told me so himsel’.”

“Grand. As long as that’s settled, then we’re square.” He made to rise, but Bane had a question for him.

“Aye, if ye say so, m’laird. What’s Constance doin’ here? Is she all right?”

The laird resumed his seat and glanced over at his daughter. “She’s fine. When ye collapsed out there in the courtyard, I had ye brought in here tae be attended by the healer. She point blank refused tae leave ye,” he said, with an odd edge to his voice, regarding Bane curiously.

A smile rose to Bane’s lips, along with a feeling of warmth that pervaded his chest. So, she had stayed with him the whole time he had been out. “That sounds like her.”

“So I’m beginnin’ tae learn.”

“Aye. She’s small but very fierce. She has a lot of spirit,” Bane said admiringly, his smile widening and making his throat hurt.

“Aye, she daes.” The laird rose again as if to leave, but Bane put out a hand to stop him once more. “What is it now?”

“Ye’re her faither. I need tae ask ye somethin’.”

“Go ahead.”

“I want tae ask yer permission tae ask Constance tae marry me.”

The laird’s normal inscrutable expression changed to one of surprise, his dark brows shooting upward. “I’m nae sure she regards me as her faither enough tae grant me such a responsibility,” he replied frankly.

“Och, I think ye’ll find she daes,” Bane assured him. “She’s always spoken of ye as her true faither as long as I’ve kent her. She would expect me tae ask yer permission, tae dae things proper like. ’Tis the way she’s been raised.”

“Is that so?” the laird replied, seeming bemused by this information but not at all displeased, judging by the softness of his voice. He looked at Bane speculatively and said, “Ye are a common born. And she’s a noble.”

“I ken that.”

“And yet ye ask fer her hand as if it is a normal thing tae dae.”

“From what I’ve heard of yer story, me laird, ye ken that love asks nay questions. It just strikes regardless of station and situation.”

Laird Kerr gave him a knowing look, and Bane thought that he’d crossed a line. But then the man said, “I saw ye fightin’ out there today. Ye fought bravely and well in me daughter’s defence.”

“Of course. I love her. I’d die fer her. I want her tae be happy,” Bane said simply, these things being self-evident to him.

The laird regarded him in silence for a few moments, keeping Bane in suspense. Then, to his relief and elation, the older man nodded. “I can see ye care about her and ye’re willin’ tae fight fer her happiness. Fer what ’tis worth, ye have me permission tae ask her. But whether she accepts or nae is up tae her.”

He paused, then added, “I have one condition though. If Constance accepts, she must stay here at the castle until the weddin’, so she and I can spend time together and strengthen our bond as faither and daughter, and tae give her time with Agnes.”

Bane’s smile was now a fully-fledged grin, and he did not care a whit for the pain it was causing him. “Of course. I’m sure she wouldnae have it any other way, since it took her so long tae find ye both.”

“Good.”

“Aye, and thank ye, m’laird. I just hope tae God that when I propose tae her, she says aye.”

“Well, I wish ye the best of luck with that, lad,” the laird said before taking his leave, with what Bane thought was the hint of a smile playing about the hard line of his lips.

Suffused with a mixture of happiness and nervous excitement, Bane allowed himself to doze, waiting for the moment when Constance would wake up and he could pop the question that was now bubbling inside him. He was brought out of his reverie by a gentle stirring next to him and the softest of kisses on his lips. He smiled.

“How are you feelin’?” He opened his eyes, to see the familiar melting brown gaze looking down at him.

“Much better fer seein’ yer face,” he told her.

“How funny. I feel exactly the same. The healer said you fainted from loss of blood and for a moment there we were not sure if you would wake up.”

“Ah, I wondered about that. The cut was deeper than I thought, I suppose.”

“Yes, it was, but he says it will heal well. You were so brave, Bane, the way you protected me and fought for me today.”

“What else is a fella tae dae fer the woman he loves?”

“Is it safe to hug you?”

“I dinnae care,” he lifted his arm and pulled her into its crook, content to feel her warmth against him. “Well, now ye’re awake, I have somethin’ important tae ask ye. And I can tell ye, I already have yer faither’s permission tae dae so.”

He chuckled as her head bobbed up next to his, her eyes as wide and expectant as her smile. “What question?”

“Constance Ashbourne, will ye dae me the honour of becomin’ me wife?”

She let out an excited squeal and peppered his still-bruised face with kisses. “Yes. Yes, yes! I will!”

“Well, thank God fer that. Ye’ve made me the happiest man alive. Now, come here, watch it, mind me neck, and give me a proper kiss tae seal the deal.”

The kiss that followed was so sweet and tender and so full of love, he was sure it must have healing properties, because all his aches and pain seemed to magically melt away.